Who Are You?
by Roxy Blade
Summary: Sherlock and John discover a strange woman in their flat, offering to help them. Who is she and what ties does she have to Moriarty?
1. Chapter 1

_Who Are You?_

Chapter 1.

"Sherlock, you can't keep doing that!"

Sherlock spins and fixes John with a confused glare.

"Why ever not?"

John gives an exasperated sigh, one hand on his hip, the other pinching the bridge of his nose,

"Because it's stealing, and if you keep doing it he _will_ arrest you!"

Sherlock looks down at the offending item in his hand, the picture of D.I Lestrade looking up at him from the policeman's I.D.

He looks back to John, "But he was annoying me" he says with a petulant air before bounding up the stairs of 221B. John shakes his head, muttering "Give me strength" under his breath as he follows his friend up the stairs.

"Sherlock, can you _please_ just give Lestrade his oof…"

John walks through the door to their living room and walks straight into the very man he was scolding just a few seconds ago. He looks up at Sherlock, ready to ask what the hell he's doing, when he notices his flatmate was suddenly very still and tense, staring at the chair that John has claimed as his own. He followed his flatmates line of sight to discover somebody already sitting in the aforementioned chair, cup of tea in hand, half smile on her pretty face.

"Ah, Doctor Watson, so nice of you to join us" The woman took a sip of her tea and fixed the doctor with a stare worthy of Sherlock himself. John notices that her eyes are the same as Sherlock's, that strange mix of green, gray and blue and instantly wonders if he has stumbled upon _another_ Holmes sibling.

The woman in the chair scoffs into her tea, "Really Doctor? Me related to him?" She jabs her head towards Sherlock who, John realises, still hasn't moved. He put his hand on Sherlock's arm,

"Sherlock? Are you-"

"Who are you?" Sherlock, suddenly out of his daze, cuts across John and takes a step towards their unknown, and unwanted, visitor.

The woman puts her cup of tea down and looks up at Sherlock, "What, are you telling me the great Sherlock Holmes cant deduce who I am?" She laughs lightly and Sherlock takes another step towards her.

"Who are you? And why are you here?"

The woman looks at him again, her clear eyes searching Sherlock's face for something that John cant apprehend. She sighs, obviously not finding what she was looking for. She looks back to John, shakes her head slightly and looks back up to Sherlock, who was still tense and who reminded John of a tiger ready to pounce.

"My name is Stephanie and I am here, Mr Holmes, because you killed my husband."


	2. Chapter 2

_Who Are You?_

Chapter 2:

John stood in the doorway to his living room wondering if, and hoping that, he had misheard their guest.

"I'm sorry, but what?" he splutters, looking from Stephenie to Sherlock, who hadn't moved or even reacted to the bombshell the woman in front of him had just dropped.

Stephenie picks up her tea cup, which must be her own as John doesn't recognise it, and looks over to John.

"You heard me perfectly well Doctor Watson"

"Who?"

Both Stephenie and John, who still have their eyes locked onto each other, jump slightly at the quiet question. The both look over to Sherlock, whose shoulders have slumped as he sits on the coffee table, head in his hands.

"I'm sorry?" Stephenie asks politely

"Who? Who is… Who _was_ he?"

"Irrelevant" Stephenie says, waving her hand dismissively while putting her, now empty, cup back down, "All you need to know is that he is dead, it was your doing and that I am now here because of it."

Sherlock's head snaps up at her dismissal,

"Irrelevant?" He spits, "How is my killing a man irrelevant?"

Stephenie fixes her eyes upon Sherlock and smiles slightly,

"I never said he was a nice man" she says softly as she gets up and walks over to the window.

She was tall, but not as tall as Sherlock. She wore a tailored, and very expensive looking, black suit with a tight pencil skirt that skimmed her thighs and came to just below her knees, showing off well toned calf muscles, a light purple shirt showing underneath a perfectly fitting jacket. Her feet are encased in black high heeled shoes that John guessed cost more than his monthly rent. She has shoulder length hair that is a deep red colour that looks slightly purple in the light from the window, scraped back into a black hair clip so the hair was out of her face, but still sitting on her shoulders. She holds herself with precision and walks with purpose in a way that makes John wonder if she has any military training.

She carries on looking out the window, watching the people of the world go by, as she speaks in a low, soft, reminiscent voice.

"We didn't marry for love, Mr Holmes. Both of us were powerful in our own ways. He was clever. Oh, he was so clever. I was rich and had contacts from all over the world from travelling with my father's job in the military." She looks at John and smiles, "You were correct in your wonderings, Doctor. My father was in the Green Guards, as was my Grandfather, before moving further up the chain of command. When I was 18, I decided to enlist and follow in their footsteps, much to my mother's disapproval" She smiles lightly and shakes her head again, "I met my husband in Ireland while I was visiting family. We met in a bar and soon realised that, together, we could become an unstoppable force. We set up a company selling weapons to Armies across the world. It was many years later that I discovered he had taken it a step further and that people were dying because of his decisions. I begged him to stop, but he merely laughed at me. He said he had created a hugely successful business using just his brilliance and that he was not going to give that up, just for a woman. He must have made some extremely powerful contacts of his own as the next thing I know; I'm part of a criminal organisation. Apparently, my abilities as a soldier and my unmatched skills with a gun were to prove useful." She gets bored of people watching and settles back into John's chair, looking at Sherlock, who was now sitting in his own chair, hands steepled under his chin as he focused on the story being told to him. His coat and scarf had been thrown over the sofa, where John now sat. She locked eyes with Sherlock and continued to speak,

"The head of that organisation is now dead, and it is my understanding that you wish to destroy his work." She pauses and Sherlock nods his confirmation, all of them fully aware of whom Stephenie is talking about, without her even needing to mention his name. Stephenie nods and continues keeping her eyes locked with Sherlock's, "In that case then, Mr Holmes, I am here to help you destroy Mr Moriarty's organisation. From the inside."

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><p><strong>AN:**  
><strong>Hey, thanks for reading so far! I'm currently typing up chapter 3 and writing chapter 4. I do apologise for the current "shortness" of the chapters. I keep taking bits out as it feels like Im "waffling". <strong>

**Please review and tell me what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Who Are You?_

Chapter 3:

Sherlock, Stephenie and john all sat in silence. John was trying to get his head around the offer that Stephenie had just laid out. Sherlock was currently studying his female guest, trying to work out if she was telling the truth. Why would one of Moriarty's own, specially chosen, henchmen (or women), offer to help bring down the very organisation for which they worked? Unfortunately for him, as much as he sat there, scrutinising her face and body language he could gather no new data, other than what she had already provided.

"Why?" He asks her, his deep voice echoing around the quiet room.

"Why what? Why do I want to bring down a criminal organisation that I was forced to work for? Why do I want to bring down an organisation that goes against _everything_ I believe in? Hmm, I wonder." Stephenie looks at Sherlock, unadulterated anger flashing behind her previously clear irises.

He sits up straighter, fixing her with a smile which John recognises as his '_I've caught _you' look. Stephenie smirks at him and mirrors his position from her chair opposite.

"Go on then." She says simply, her smile not faltering. Much unlike Sherlock's, who now wore a slightly confused and outdone expression.

"Go on what?" he asks, masking his confusion and putting his blank façade back on.

"Tell me how you think you've caught me out"

This simple statement has John and Sherlock glancing at each other, earning another smile from Stephenie. John had hoped that mind reading was merely a Holmes trait._ "Apparently not" _he thinks. Sherlock looks back to Stephenie, sits back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him with his hands steepled under his chin, and begins his deduction.

"You said you and your husband started a company selling weapons to Armies. You have also mentioned that you were _in_ the army. This shows that you have no problem with the violence of war, the death of innocents and the general chaos that extreme fighting creates. However, you say you begged your husband to stop his business and you are now saying that Moriarty's organisation goes against everything you believe in. These statements contradict each other, which must mean you are lying. Therefore I have, as you put it, 'caught you out'." He stops talking, rests his arms on the arm rests of his chair and gives Stephenie a smug smile. However, instead of the usual panicked expression that normal people wear when he catches them lying, he sees only an amused glint in her eyes.

"Well done Mr Holmes. You got almost everything. But then there is always _something_ that you miss, isn't there?" She smiles sweetly, which is rewarded with a sharp scowl from the Consulting Detective.

"You are correct in saying about my selling weapons and not minding the chaos of war. However, I was not in the army to fight as such. I was a dog handler and trainer. I taught our countries Military Working Dogs to find bombs and other explosives that would have otherwise killed hundreds. And yes, I sold weapons. However, they were not lethal. My company made weapons that armies and police forces could use to distract and disorientate civilians, preventing them from doing further harm. I do not condone fighting. In fact I despise it, unless it is for a reason, for example; against terrorism. What Moriarty set up was a company of playthings. He saw life as a game of chess. The Earth was his board and every living person was merely a chess piece waiting to be played with. This country owes you a great deal, Mr Holmes, for eradicating the threat of Jim Moriarty. However, his soldiers will strive to continue his apparent legacy and I cannot allow that to happen."

She stopped talking and sat in the chair looking deflated. John wonders how long she had been holding that little rant in, as she actually looks relieved to have got it off her chest.

"What I don't understand Ms…" Sherlock trailed off, waiting for the woman in front of him to provide her surname. When she doesn't, he clears his throat and tries again, "What I don't understand is this: if you are as powerful as you say then why can you not bring the organisation down on your own? Why can you not use one of those many contacts you have? And what I _really_ want to know, is how do you know who I am and why are you here asking me for help?"

Stephenie sits forward, her face void of all emotion, but when she talks John notices a slight quiver. Not much, but it's there.

"I am here, Mr Holmes, because I need your help. It was my job to be up to date with any and all threats to Moriarty and his work. Your name kept popping up. A lot. However, Jim would always be there when it did, as if he was expecting it. He would make sure that none of us knew who you were or where you lived. If your name came up on our personal internet history, he would make us disappear. He always kept you to himself. Guess that was his downfall. Rule number one of _any_ combat situation is to _never_ _underestimate your opponent_. He underestimated you Mr Holmes. And that is why he is now dead." She looks up at the ceiling, as if trying to hold back tears.

"How long would you say Moriarty has been one for Mr Holmes?" She paused slightly, looking at Sherlock, but continued talking before he could open his mouth, "I'll tell you: 6 months, 23 days and 17 hours. I know this because I was there. He didn't _know_ I was there, but I was. I watched him die and I didn't feel _anything_. He did that to me. Beat any and all emotion from me. As soon as I left, I put a plan of action into place to bring down the rest of his people. I got into touch with my contacts. I tried _every single one_. But it was too late. He had gotten to them. All of them. It didn't matter which country I went to, or how far underground I went. Hell, even those contacts I thought untouchable, in Governments and Monarchies, had his name written all over them. I have spent the last 6 months, nearly 7, working my arse off to finish him, all while trying to stay off the radar of his employees. I can't do it alone Mr Holmes. I need your contacts. I need your skills. I need your brain and your brilliance. But most of all, Mr Holmes, I need _you_."

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><p><strong>AN:  
>Hey guys, just wanted to say thank you to all those of you that have added me to your favourite stories lists and notification alerts! MAkes me smile lots :D Haha. <strong>

**This chapter is a bit longer than the others and the next one is even longer. Hopefully they will still be good, let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

Stephenie, Sherlock and John, once again, sat in contemplative silence for what, John felt, was hours. It was only 15 minutes, but it felt longer. _Much_ longer. John looks at his watch and swears. He starts patting himself down, looking for his mobile.  
>"Sherlock, have you seen -"<br>Sherlock cuts him off by holding the missing phone out to the doctor. John grabs his phone and sends Sherlock his best glare, to which the consulting detective merely smiles. John starts thumbing through his contacts, a small grimace settling on his face when he finds the one he was looking for. Just as he was about to press the green call button, a smooth voice piped up.  
>"I wouldn't bother, doctor. Would be a waste of your time"<br>John looks up, surprised. He finds Stephenie looking bored while studying her pristine manicured finger nails.  
>"I'm sorry? What would be a waste of my time? And you don't even know who I'm calling"<br>She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at John's childish tone, and smiles.  
>"You looked at your watch and swore. Means you're late for something. When Mr Holmes gave you your phone, you seemed slightly disgruntled at the lack of messages and or missed calls. Means you're supposed to be meeting someone and are surprised they have not yet contacted you to find out your whereabouts. From the amount of time it took you to scroll to their number and the face you pulled when you found it, I'm guessing Sarah." She pauses and looks at him; taking the confirmation she's after from his stunned expression and continues, looking away and sounding bored again.<br>"Don't bother. She forgot you had made plans. She's made other arrangements and is currently a bit, _tied up_ shall we say, and so wouldn't be able to answer your pathetically apologetic call."  
>"Brilliant." John breathes, earning a sharp look from Sherlock. "I mean, obviously not the fact that you just implied my girlfriend is cheating on me, and the rather obvious insult. But the deduction thing. That was brilliant."<br>Stephenie looks shocked at John's admission. Sherlock just looks pissed.  
>"That's my thing" he says, the petulant air making a comeback.<br>"Really Sherlock" Stephenie chides, rolling her eyes and smiling slightly, "it's like you've never met anyone nearly as brilliant as you. And please note that I said _nearly_. I make no claims to be as good as you."  
>She stands and goes to the window, her smile falling and her body becoming more rigid.<br>"I'm afraid I must be off, gentlemen." she says, spinning away from the window. She strides to the door and picks up her handbag. She turns and gives a warm smile to the two stunned faces looking at her.  
>"It was lovely to meet you both" and with that, she turns and walks from the flat.<br>"Wait!" John calls after her, causing her to pause on her descent of the stairs. She turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. "_She really is too much like Sherlock"_ he thinks.  
>"If you want us to help you, you can't just leave" he moans at her, "how are we supposed to know what needs doing? Not all of us are mind readers, you know."<br>She laughs, a noise John thinks he could get used to hearing.  
>"I will contact you again when it is possible" she says, turning back to continue walking down the stairs, "Don't worry Doctor Watson" she calls up, "You'll both be seeing me again, very soon." And with that she's gone from 221b, the door closed gently behind her.<br>When John goes back into the living room, he notices Sherlock standing by the window, watching Stephenie get into a sleek black car with private number plates that, even from that distance, he can tell get changed frequently.  
>"I don't trust her" he mutters into the curtain.<br>John scoffs, "Of course you don't. I mean, why would you? She's beautiful, talented, smart and just as brilliant as you."  
>At the last statement, Sherlock spins and starts stalking towards John, his voice low and dangerous as he speaks.<br>"_Nobody_ is as brilliant as me John, you are just easily fooled. All of those deductions were obvious to anyone with a brain." He waves his hand towards John and collapses onto "his" sofa. "No, I don't trust her because something doesn't add up. But I can't see it! She's hiding something and I can't work out what!" He lets out a frustrated growl and pulls on his hair.  
>"Sherlock?" John asks quietly. When he receives a grunt, he knows his troubled friend is listening, so he carries on.<br>"Sherlock, who did you kill? Who was Stephenie's husband?"  
>Sherlock twists his head on the arm of the sofa and studies John's face. He turns back to stare at the ceiling, sighing while rubbing his face with his hands.<br>"I don't know" comes the soft, regretful reply, "I don't have any idea. I can see nothing on her person to indicate who she is or whom she may have been married to. She has a very faint tan line where her ring used to be, which means she took it off as soon as she learned of his death. The way she walks and talks shows she is well educated. She said she met him while in Ireland visiting family. So she's Irish, or at least partly. But she has no hint of Irish in her voice, so she has spent most of her life in England. Her husband could have also been Irish. Explains what attracted Moriarty to him. If he was as clever as she states, I doubt our dear friend Jim would have been able to resist another clever Irish guy." Sherlock pauses, sits up and takes the cup of tea being offered to him.  
>"Her voice" he mutters into his cup. John looks at him as he settles into the chair Stephenie recently vacated.<br>"Huh? Did you say something?" he asks, not really expecting a reply. He was used to the Consulting Detective ignoring him while he was trying to work something out. However, this time Sherlock deigned to respond.  
>"John," Sherlock looks at him, eyes alight with the joy only a good puzzle can bring, "where would you say our new friend is from? Going only by her accent"<br>John looks at his friend, opens his mouth to answer, frowns and closes it again with a rush of air escaping between his lips. His frown deepens as he looks at the wall, as if the answer is written there.  
>"You know, I don't actually know" he says, disappointed that he couldn't give his friend a better answer.<br>"Exactly" Sherlock exclaims, jumping from his seat, "she has no definable accent, which means she either moved around a lot as a child, and possibly as an adult as well. Or she has taught herself to not give it away. My money is on the first option."  
>John watches as Sherlock paces, waiting for him to elaborate. When he doesn't, John sighs and decides he might as well make himself sound as dumb as he felt.<br>"Why?"  
>Sherlock stops pacing and throws a confused look in John's direction. The doctor sighs and continues.<br>"Why the first option? How do you know she hasn't just trained herself?"  
>Sherlock looks disappointed. "<em>Was probably hoping for a less dull question"<em> John thinks to himself. He watches as Sherlock continues his pacing, wondering if he's going to get an answer to his question.  
>After a few more laps of the living room, Sherlock's voice fills the room once more.<br>"She hasn't trained her voice not to show any possible accent. Even people who have spent decades training their voices still have a few words or phrases that they can't stop from slipping into their native accent for. Stephenie, however, didn't. Her entire speeches were done in the same tone. Same accent."  
>"So?" John asks, "She said her father was in the army and that she had contacts from all over the world. Perhaps she just wasn't in one place long enough to pick up the local accent." John shrugs as he finishes talking. He looks at Sherlock, who is giving the doctor his "don't-be-an-idiot" look.<br>"Really John? You are an army man yourself. How long is the shortest tour possible?"  
>John sits back to think.<br>"Yes, ok. The shortest tour I can think of, off the top of my head is 6 months, but that's only after you've served at least one full tour" He looks back to Sherlock, realisation dawning on his face, "But most people would pick up an accent in a month or 2 if they were in an English speaking country"  
>Sherlock gives John one of his real smiles, showing John that he was proud of him for working it out. John nods to himself and looks at the floor before talking again.<br>"Sherlock?"  
>"Hmm?"<br>"Why is her accent so important?"  
>Sherlock stops pacing, spins around with his mouth open, closes it and looks at John.<br>"There is a reason. A very good reason"  
>John looked at him pointedly<br>"Which is?"  
>"I'm not sure yet. But there is one!"<br>The end of the sentence came as a shout over the detectives shoulder as Sherlock dashes out the door of 221b and onto the streets of London

* * *

><p>"Do you think he will help?"<br>Stephenie sighs and looks out the window of her car.  
>"I don't know Lucy, I really don't. I pray he does, as if he doesn't, I don't want to think about what is going to happen"<br>The rest of their journey was spent in a tense and uncomfortable silence as Stephenie tried hard not to think about what Moriarty's men would do to her if they knew what she was planning. Lucy spent the journey watching Stephenie, with tears in her eyes and sending a silent prayer to the two men who now held her sisters life in their un-knowing hands.

**A/N**

**Hey guys. I'm so sorry for the delay. Real life got in the way. I hope this chapter is worth it. I'm going to begin typing up chapter 5 now and will get on with writing chapter 6 asap. Thank you so much for the reviews, really appreciate them!**


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